


Momentarily

by abbichicken



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Character Study, M/M, Mansion Fic, Snapshots, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:16:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbichicken/pseuds/abbichicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik is having a lie-down. Charles is overthinking this.</p><p>(this is what happens when you're distracting yourself from NaNoWriMo XD)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Momentarily

Laid back on a bench, arms folded behind his head, legs neatly crossed, protruding over the edge, slick and tailored in black from head to toe, Erik is lacking only a cigarette and a copy of Camus to mark him as every depressive/idealistic European student there is.

But Erik is not a student.

Erik graduated a long time ago. You could picture him in a gown, in the hat, at a ceremony. He wouldn't give the speech, but he would be the first to throw his had in the air.

Erik's graduation looked nothing like this.

Even the best guess only comes half close, but it's the scent of blood and sound of thumping adrenaline and the grit of teeth and pushing of sweat and blanketing release of calm that comes with committing the acts from which you can never come back.

He is so, so clever.

Academically, too.

He has read well.

He speaks at least five languages as if they were his own. He has five langauges that may well be his own. He could well have more langauges which would, too, become his own, because Erik owns everything he lays claim to in an absolute moment.

The things he is not interested in are dismissed, and not missed.

Erik frees a clasped hand and uses it to push back a section of hair that the warm autumn breeze has tickled out of place. He doesn't seem to blink, staring, continuously, at the sky.

He's probably not thinking that that cloud looks like a duck.

It's probably best not to think too hard about what Erik might be thinking about.

It's clear that he's breathing deeply, as if trying to rest himself, or convince himself of something - the rise and fall of his abdomen only goes to illustrate the flatness of his stomach beneath the dark fabric that itches, just a bit, all the time. It's hardly the self-abuse of the monk, but it's a hell of a concession for fashion.

He doesn't seem the type to accept anything in the name of fashion.

There's probably some psychological reason for it, for a want to be in a slight state of distress, to feel irritation that plainly.

Certainly Erik has the full catalogue of things that might move one to such actions.

But that isn't where the pleasure of looking at Erik lies. It's not in trying to unravel him, or parse him. He needs neither. He is, fully formed.

He is fully formed right now.

RIght at this moment.

But, Charles wonders, how long can this state of affairs last?

And, having known completion and acceptance and calm, even only for a moment, even only in this moment, riding on the back of a good night, and a better morning, and the warmth of the sun and the pleasure of needng to go nowhere, to do nothing...how can Erik continue amidst the situation that awaits him?

Best not to think about this.

The more Charles thinks about it, the more he is sure that this perfect Erik, this momentary vision of bliss and possibility, is the shadow, the unachievable.

Even now, behind the gaze, there's an itching, an understanding that any kind of pleasure, any kind of rest is only temporary.

There's a war to be fought.

Charles watches from the distant window for as long as Erik lies there, wishing simultaneously that he would both get up, and stay there forever. In his own way, this experience of seeing what can't be true and can't be forever is as uncomfortable and unpleasant as anything.

It doesn't matter how hard he tries.

The future he dreams of can never be.


End file.
